


until the end starts

by wearethewitches



Series: there's no knowing where you'll be swept off to [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Books, Dimension Travel, F/M, Financial Issues, Fluff, Gen, Glasses, Languages and Linguistics, Legal Drama, Librarians, Long-Distance Relationship, Slice of Life, The Lord of the Rings References, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-10-31 22:12:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17857922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearethewitches/pseuds/wearethewitches
Summary: “He’s the main character, Emma!”“I still like Pippin the best,” Emma replies.-or, two years since Sir Roland became Robin.





	until the end starts

**Author's Note:**

> title from Adele's 'One and Only', because i think the song fits.

**PART TWO**

Emma knows she had something in Tallahassee that she’d never had before.

All her life, she’d tried to stay put and eventually run, too scared or too hurt to continue. Tallahassee burned, a constant reminder of Neal and what he’d done to her, but it was home. She’d waited tables and her apartment was shitty, but it was _her_ shitty apartment, her tiny corner of the world that she’d claimed for herself.

 _Robin’s apartment, now,_ she thinks as his voice washes over her, the phone at her ear making a dent in her neck. _Robin’s four walls, Robin’s sunken sofa, Robin’s half-dead gas top…_

Emma imagines him there now, legs swung up on the coffee table as he reads _The Two Towers_ slowly and methodically through the speaker. Robin needs glasses – she imagines the rectangular frames resting on the end of his nose, slipping down as he tilts his head further to read.

“ _‘It’s saying a lot too much,’ said Frodo and he laughed, a long clear laugh from his heart. Such a sound had not been heard in those places since Sauron came to Middle Earth._ ” Robin reads, doing the voices, as per usual. “ _To Sam suddenly it seemed as if all the stones were listening and the tall rocks leaning over them. But Frodo did not heed them; he laughed again…_ ”

“Frodo’s your favourite,” Emma can’t help but tease, smiling against the receiver.

“ _He is not classically heroic, yet he is the one who will save Middle Earth,_ ” Robin replies, losing his low, soothing book voice which earns him extra pennies at the library he cleans in exchange for staunch defensiveness. “ _He’s the main character, Emma!_ ”

“I still like Pippin the best,” Emma replies. Outside the Bug, she can hear a siren and it makes her feel more alert, her long and terrible history with authorities making itself known. She struggles to keep her voice even as her eyes dart along the street. “You’d name your own kid Frodo, if you could get away with it.”

“ _I certainly would. Frodo is an excellent role-model._ ”

“Doesn’t he fail to destroy the Ring, in the end?” Emma can recall, vaguely, an old foster-sister who loved to babble on about her favourite novels to her – up until another foster-sister ripped up her copy of _Dragonflight_ and blamed Emma for it. Of all her favourites, _Lord of the Rings_ had been a series she could _really_ rattle on about.

“ _Well, yes, but not all heroes are successful. At the very least, he got the Ring to Mount Doom,_ ” Robin says and Emma can hear the rustle of paper. “ _What would you call your child, Emma?_ ”

Without meaning to, Emma fumbles the phone. Her brain darts backwards, to memories of kicking feet in her abdomen and the ugly despair of putting her own kid what she went through.

“ _Emma?_ ” Robin’s voice is tinny, the further away it is. The phone is at her feet and Emma scrambles to pick it up. “ _What happened?_ ”

“Nothing! Nothing, just- the phone slipped,” Emma winces. “I don’t know.”

“ _Don’t know what?_ ”

“The- your question,” Emma says, eyes glued to the dashboard of her car. “If I had a kid, I mean. I don’t know what I’d call them. You startled me.”

“ _It’s alright…well, I’ve put our bookmark in. I have an early start tomorrow. How long until you’re here?_ ”

“I’m a couple thousand miles away, still,” Emma’s gaze flickers up. The sirens have faded, but there’s someone watching her car. Emma swallows. _Phoenix._ “I was thinking of making a road-trip of it, maybe. Do some odd jobs along the way, so I don’t put you out.”

“ _It’s still your apartment, Emma. I can’t exactly-_ ” Robin stops in the middle of his sentence awkwardly. Emma winces again – this time in sympathy.

Robin can’t sign on any lease forms. He can barely get a job, though is lucky enough at the moment that the library staff are willing to sign him off as a form of relief worker rather than a full-time employee. The pay is abysmal, but it’s cash in hand.

Robin of Locksley isn’t from this world and as such, doesn’t have the paperwork to live in it.

“I don’t want to make a nuisance of myself. This way, at least I’ll have some savings when I come crash on your couch.”

“ _No. Not happening – I happen to have a perfectly new mattress on my bed._ ”

“You told me,” Emma mutters, glancing again at the watcher. They’re on their own phone, the light reflecting off their face, but they aren’t looking at it.

“ _What’s this? No quick quips from the indominable Emma Swan? That was practically an invitation,_ ” Robin says and Emma can _imagine_ the quirked eyebrow and the roguish grin across his face.

“I’ll take you up on it, promise,” Emma manages to return with her usual aplomb, “I’d never refuse.”

“ _Young love. I adore you; do you know that?_ ”

Emma’s heart twists at the idea of loving again. “You’ve said that before,” she says, uneasy. “I mean, not discounting that _maybe_ you’re mentally out of it, but we haven’t seen each other in nearly a year. Long-distance is difficult enough without you adding the L word into it.”

“ _I don’t care. I get to read to you like tonight, I get to ask about how your day went – we might be physically far apart, but emotionally? You can’t say we aren’t compatible,_ ” Robin argues. “ _I adore you. That’s a fact. I called it young love as a joke – adoration isn’t the same as love._ ”

“I feel bad for making you say it like that,” Emma admits. “I’m just- I’m not ready to be in love again.”

“ _Cassidy can go to hell and you, my dear, can trust me to do right by you at the expense of my own life, if necessary,_ ” Robin says and his voice is vehement – angry. Emma is startled by his ferocity. “ _I am your friend as well as your lover. If he so much as darkens your shadow, I will defend you._ ”

“Thanks,” Emma says, but her voice is shaky and choked. “That’s- that’s something.”

Silence falls between them. The static of the phone is the only thing audible, except their shared breathing. Emma tries to imitate him, heart beating fast. There is a bail-bondsperson across the street and Robin adores her. It’s hard to decide what to focus on and in all her twenty-two years, Emma has the most _idiotic_ idea in her life to bring up the impossible Frodo Locksley again.

“What would you call your kid if you had a girl?” she blurts out, sinking further back into the drivers seat.

Robin’s voice is slow, like he’s gathering his thoughts. “ _Well…maybe not something from Tolkien’s novels. Maybe Barbara, after my mother._ ”

“You could call her Bobbie for short,” Emma almost whispers.

“ _Hm. Maybe. I wouldn’t – you would, but I wouldn’t._ ”

“Am I your imaginary kids’ mother in this?” Emma questions, though her own thoughts bring her right back around to Neal, prison and pregnancy. “Would they be Locksley’s or Swan’s?”

“ _I’d marry you first, before having children,_ ” Robin says firmly, like he’s actually thought about this. Emma thinks he probably has – Locksley’s a kingdom or state of it’s own, of some sort. The Enchanted Forest has a ruling class, that Robin is technically a part of, so heirs is probably- no, _definitely_ something he’s thought about.

It’s thoughts like those that make Emma want to sign herself into a psych ward. She’s perfectly comfortable supporting Robin, twisted-up memories or not, but Emma must have picked up more than she thought if the phrase _caste system_ is in her everyday vocabulary.

“So they _are_ our imaginary kids,” Emma drawls, attempting to ignore her own brain.

“ _Our perfect imaginary children. A boy called Frodo with your eyes and my hair; and a girl called Barbara,_ ” he pauses, before conceding, “ _or Bobbie, depending on the person, who looks like you._ ”

“What’s your mom like?” Emma asks.

“ _Beautiful. Intelligent. She was very tall, too – I had to lean up to kiss her cheek. Maybe not now, though, seeing as I’ve grown a bit since I was last in Locksley._ ”

“I’m jealous,” Emma jokes, but it stings quite painfully, actually. She shouldn’t have asked- “I’ve got to go,” she says abruptly, seeing the watcher exit their car, obviously thinking she’s wrapped up enough to actually _stay_. “I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

“ _Oh, well, yes. Goodnight, Emma._ ”

“Goodnight,” Emma rushes out, snapping her cell shut and starting the Bug up. Her hands are too quick and a glance in the rear-view mirror shows Emma herself is looking a bit frazzled. The watcher is getting closer, noting her hurry. “Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit-”

_Goodbye Arizona._

* * *

He turns the library lights on when he comes in, making up a new flask of tea in the common area to replace the one he had on his walk here. The bulbs flicker in one corner. _I’ll have to replace that,_ Robin thinks, mentally rotating through the caretaker’s cupboard, trying to figure out if he has a spare on hand.

“Morning, Robin,” Grace greets, only half an hour later than Robin himself. Robin offers the woman a small smile. “Sorry I wasn’t here earlier – my ex was being stingy about taking the kids to school this morning. The delivery truck came in last night while I we were closing up after night-classes.”

“How are they going?” Robin queries, knowing the new adult night classes were Grace’s pet project.

“Large turnout, but it could have been a bit more organised. There was something like fifty people,” Grace says, seemingly scarcely believing her own words. She jerks her head towards the desks – which are piled high with boxes. “Thanks for coming in to help. I don’t think I could do this on my own.”

“No worries,” Robin replies, the two of them coming to sit in the centre of them all in two waiting chairs. “What are we doing?”

“Sticking our library tags inside and stamping them,” Grace produces a small box of ink-stampers and plastic pockets, waiting for white slips. “Want to stick or stamp, kid?”

“Stamp,” Robin claims. “Don’t want you marking the books later today.”

Grace winks, “My handy man. Hey, ever thought about coming to the night classes? I know you’re a dab hand at stuff and we got a really eclectic bunch, last night.”

“I’ll think about it,” Robin says, a little more dubious now. He takes the stamps, peering at the backwards letters proclaiming that the to-be-stamped book in question is the property of the public library. “Where am I stamping?”

Grace opens up a box, picking a book at random and opening it to the front page. She points at the lower left-hand corner, handing it to him. “Usually, here, but if you want to put them somewhere else, that’s fine. Just try to do it neatly – wonky stamps are the bane of my _life_ ,” she rolls her eyes and then, the two of them get to work.

It’s different to what Robin is used to doing. In the Enchanted Forest, a wandering man’s days would be spent leisurely, hunting for food or doing mercenary work on behalf of city watches and guilds for gold. Here, the contrast is startling. Too much leisure time cuts into that life. If you aren’t working or in the process of getting one, funds dwindle and everything that turns surviving into _living_ is stripped from you, piece by piece. The Land Without Magic is complicated and oppressive in its rigidity.

Robin strokes the firm spine of the book – people like Grace take books for granted, stamping and labelling them without care, because if you want another copy it’s as simple as going to a book shop and asking. The concept of _public libraries_ is an enthralling one that Robin wants to take advantage of one day, when he returns to the Enchanted Forest.

 _Because I will return,_ he thinks in a sober tone. Robin stamps the book, moving onto the next, knowing that above his heart, tattooed onto his skin is a dark copper rune that tethers him to Rumplestiltskin’s ritual, still.

The work is repetitive and gives Robin’s mind the chance to drift. He thinks of Emma, driving half-way across America to come live with him again. They had almost two years together in Tallahassee, before Emma left for Phoenix. Robin is all of twenty years old and he has lived in the Land Without Magic for three; he trusts he will return home in time, but his heart twists at the thought of leaving Emma behind.

 _She would never forgive me,_ he thinks miserably, knowing Emma doesn’t fully believe him about coming from another realm. How could she, when all the fantasy of this world lies within pages of escapist novels and creative writing?

Robin does not know what to cultivate in himself – she would see through a lie in an instant. Trying to convince her he made it all up would be folly. But likewise, it would be folly not to tell her he could disappear at any instance, that he would only have a day’s notice before being pulled away from the Land Without Magic forever. Therefore, Robin must find new things to layer on top of himself – pulling away from Sir Roland the knight, vassal of the Dark One and creating _Robin Hood._

Emma had laughed, when he said that was his name. She had asked if he was _sure_ he wasn’t on the way to a ren-faire, but sobered quickly when she realised Robin wasn’t kidding.

_Unfortunate name. How many kids at school pretended to be your Friar Tuck and Maid Marian?_

“Hey Robin,” Grace snickers, elbowing him lightly as she shows him a new title: _Robin and the King_ , by Parke Godwin. “It’s your biography.”

Robin sighs.

“I’m sure it is,” Robin pastes a smile on his face that fails to convince Grace he’s alright with her joke. “Sorry, I just get a lot of that.”

“Man, you called me _milady_ the first time we met,” Grace says, treading lightly as she lets out a small laugh. “I won’t make any more jokes about it.”

“Thank-you for your consideration.”

Robin has read many, many tales of his namesake. He thinks of it like Atalanta and the Aetolian Boar – or the Calydonian Boar, as some Greek mythology enthusiasts might call it, here. In hindsight, if Robin had read the whole tale as it is written here, in the Land Without Magic, he might have been more prepared for Taliesin’s reaction. Considering how Meleager died, too, Robin is lucky to have had the Dark One for an ally to combat that dark magic Taliesin wrought.

Robin hopes that he is the original Robin Hood and truthfully, he believes he probably will be, eventually. The Dark One was so sure of it. Only, Robin is more wary now – for every tale, no matter the source, agrees upon one thing: Robin Hood fights a war upon the Sheriff of Nottingham, who taxes the people and leaves the land bereft.

Atalanta’s story was transposed upon the Enchanted Forest, with Robin taking the place of Meleager in their hunt for the Aetolian Boar. The Sheriff of Nottingham, in Robin’s mind, can only mean one person – the one person he knows he does not want ruling Locksley, even for a single day.

_I do not want to fight a war on my uncle, but for the people of Locksley, I will._

* * *

At noon, Robin replaces the flickering lightbulb in the corner of the library, dusts the shelves and assists the afternoon’s librarian, a quiet man called Ted, in placing returned books back on the shelves.

“Working late?” Ted grunts, when he signs off at one.

“Something like that,” Robin shrugs, before heading out. He gets a sandwich from a pop-up truck on his way through town, walking the entire way to the gym. His membership is discounted, but it’s still the most expensive thing he pays for, bar his apartment and utilities. When he arrives, it’s already quarter to two, making him wince.

_Three o’clock on the dot, every time._

Robin uses his fifteen minutes well, dressing in shorts and gym shoes, warming up in time for his unofficial appointment with someone Emma delightfully, _falsely_ , likes to call his sugar daddy.

“Rob! There you are!” Jacob waves cheerfully. “How are you?”

“Good, you?” Robin asks.

“Oh, I cheated a little last night – had a whole pint of beer, shameful, I know,” Jacob grins and it’s silly, something that should lighten the mood, but Robin has never had much natural patience for the man. “So, what are we doing today?”

“Warm up,” Robin orders, still jogging on the treadmill. As usually, Jacob groans and procrastinates, only jumping onto the next treadmill over after ten minutes of chatter. _This is leisure to him,_ Robin tries to convince himself to calm down, like Jacob isn’t his one ticket to getting a full-time job at a private centre for archery enthusiasts.

“You should meet my wife’s sister, Rob,” Jacob says, still cheerful despite his red face. He takes a break from his warm up and Robin slows his treadmill, moving across the gym to the pulley machines. This is where he can show off – where he can subtly trick Jacob into thinking he might be a good candidate for an archery instructor.

“Oh?” Robin inquires as they sit on opposing pulleys.

“Yeah, her names Madeline, Maddy to friends.” Jacob winks conspiratorially, leaning in to say in a hush, “We went out once, in high school. Bit of a prude, but she’s a sarcastic little shit. You guys would get on like a house on fire.”

“She sounds lovely,” Robin says diplomatically, “but I’m already involved with another woman.”

Jacob startles, “You are? What? Rob, you’re holding out on me!” Jacob abandons his attempts to work out, leaning closer to Robin. “Who is she? Why haven’t I seen her around? You like fit girls, Rob, I know you do.”

“Emma works out,” Robin says reluctantly, knowing she did basic exercises as part of her morning routine, the last time he checked – _a product of prison and nothing to do_ , she’d said.

“Emma,” Jacob rolls her name across his tongue, as if testing it. “Is she hot?”

“Hot is what you call a cup of tea,” Robin abuses him of the notion that Emma is simply _hot._ “Call her gorgeous or nothing else.”

Jacob _cackles._

“You’re whipped, dude!” the other man pounds his chest, laughing. “Oh man, this is great. We should go out this weekend, you could bring her and she could chat to Annabel and Maddy. What does she do?”

“Driving, at the moment,” Robin replies, amused, continuing to work out while Jacob sits there, fascinated by the fact that Robin has a partner. “She’s coming to live with me.”

Jacob pauses, “Where’s this chick from?”

“Arizona, though she used to be from here,” Robin says, finding it easier to talk to Jacob when it’s about someone else. Jacob doesn’t even know what he does for a living. “There was some trouble with her work, so we’re moving back in together.”

“‘Back’?” Jacob questions, puzzled.

“It’s complicated.” Robin grimaces.

“Sounds like it,” Jacob shakes his head. “When’s she arriving?”

“Sometime in the next week,” Robin says vaguely. “She might be making a holiday of it, of sorts. Well,” he pauses, “as much as working odd jobs on a road trip is a holiday.”

Oddly enough, Robin is reminded of his old life where he made coin on the road. It amuses him to think of Emma doing the same.

“She tight on funds?” Jacob commiserates, “I know how that is. Annabel had to pay rent to her parents when she turned eighteen. I paid it, most of the time, until Maddy ratted us out. Annabel was saving up for when my gap year came around.”

Robin is unable to help snorting.

“What?” Jacob frowns. “We wanted time away together, what’s so wrong with that, huh? You’d give money to your girl if you could, right?”

“If I could,” Robin says, “but unfortunately, it’s more often the other way around. We can both get by on our own, but we loan each other money all the time when emergencies happen. I have an apartment and she has a car that she sleeps in – my bills are larger.”

Jacob gapes. “Dude, what? I- I didn’t _know_ , man! _Rob,_ ” Jacob says the pitiful nickname with such defeat in his tone, like he’s found out something awful. “Is this why you don’t go out much? I’m not an idiot, I know you only agree when I say I’m paying. I thought it was just you being…I don’t know, a stingy asshole, but dude, _man,_ you could ask me for money too.”

“I do,” Robin replies delicately.

“Yeah,” Jacob scowls, “for a broken thermostat or a new mattress because your old one had _holes_ in it, but seriously, if you’re that bad off, I can give you more. My parents have money to their fucking _eyeballs._ Getting a loan off them is easy.”

“I don’t like the idea of asking you that,” Robin says honestly, finally stopping in his workout to actually talk to Jacob properly. “Jacob, I know you consider me a good friend and- and I feel terrible about it, but I-”

Jacob puts up his hand. “Don’t say anything. You’re like that type on TV, the broke honest guy trying not to rely on his friends. I’m offering, no strings attached. How much do you need to be comfortable, until your work savings start piling up?” Silence. Robin looks away. Jacob asks bluntly, “Are you in debt?”

“…I don’t have paperwork,” Robin mumbles, feeling more than embarrassed. More silence greets him and then it all falls out. “It means I can’t get a job or a bank account or- or even have my apartment in my own name. It’s Emma’s. When I get IDed, I use my gym membership card.”

“Yeah, I’ve made fun of you for it before,” Jacob says and Robin doesn’t look at him, feeling awful and callous – he wanted to use this man to get a job, not to gain a friend. “I thought you just had like…an awful photo.”

“I grew up in a commune,” Robin says, struggling to remember the lie Emma foisted on him, in case anyone asked questions. “They didn’t recognise the government as their government. I had to learn an entirely new calendar when I…when I left.”

“Weird,” Jacob mutters, before sitting up straight. “I’m going to get cash in hand for you, alright? Once a month, I’ll bring a couple thousand dollars and- and a safety deposit box. It’ll be mine, but you can use it for your own purposes and stuff, like payslips and official documents, in case things fall through. I’ll get you a key and sign you off.”

“Jacob, that’s too much,” Robin squawks.

“No, it’s not,” Jacob glowers at him and for once, isn’t the happy-go-lucky college student Robin is used to seeing. His anger on behalf of Robin is deep and it leaves him snappish. “I know I have it all – I’m in college without student loans, I married my prom date, I’m a trust-fund kid; let me do this for you.”

“Dear lord,” Robin murmurs to himself, overwhelmed at the kindness he’s being shown. “You would really do this?”

“I _am_ doing this,” Jacob corrects, standing up and grabbing his bag. “C’mon, we’re doing it this afternoon. My bank’s still open. Let’s hit the showers and get going.”

Robin can only follow.

* * *

“ _That’s…that’s great, Robin, really,_ ” Emma sounds dazzled and just as overwhelmed as he was. Robin struggles not to hold the fresh bills too tight, the crackling of the crisp notes being bent too loud in the quiet of his apartment. “ _What are you going to do with it?_ ”

“I have no bloody idea,” Robin freely states, guwaffing. “I have _money_ , Emma. We have _money._ ”

Emma laughs. “ _It’s like a whole new paycheck every month, without the work._ ”

“There was a little scuffle over my lack of government-issued ID over the safety-deposit box, but my signature was really all they needed when Jacob mentioned giving me sole authorisation,” Robin mentions. “We’re going to see Jacob’s lawyer next week, to check up on the things I need to mention in my less-than-official Will. Everything I own is going to go to you. Do you have a Will, Emma?”

“ _Nope. Probably should, but I don’t want to leave you with anything like debt I might have picked up. You’re almost lucky you can’t get a loan – leaves so much less mess behind for your friends and family._ ”

“Where are you?” Robin asks her, eager to see her and share his excitement in person.

“ _Still too far to make it for midnight,_ ” she tells him regretfully. “ _It’s Wednesday today, yeah? I’ll be in Tallahassee by Friday, maybe. I’ll keep you posted._ ”

Robin wilts slightly, but pushes onwards. “Alright. Are we reading tonight?”

“ _Yeah, but let me get dinner first. I’ll call you back in an hour, okay?_ ”

“Okay,” Robin says, pausing as he remembers their last conversation. “I adore you.”

Emma pauses, voice quiet when she replies. “ _I’ll talk to you soon._ ” She hangs up and Robin doesn’t so much as feel a twinge of pain, but rather the sensation of missing a step on a staircase – his heart unexpectedly dropping further than he thought it would.

“That’s not fair on her,” he whispers to himself, tucking his phone away back in his pocket. “She doesn’t feel the same way.”

 _She could,_ an awful voice whispers in his head, _if she wanted to._

“We care for each other,” Robin says staunchly. “I can adore her and we can still care for each other, too. We can. I can.”

The money in his hand crackles and creases in his grip, reminding him to put it away. Similarly, Emma’s reminder of dinner makes him hungry, so in the hour before Emma is due to call him back, he fries off the last of the wild turkey he’d shot last weekend and dubiously eyes the rice as it expands in a pot of water. His bow and arrows are hung up behind his front door, half-hidden by a thin blanket and Robin has put a post-it note on the fridge to remind himself to fletch new arrows before he goes out again.

The apartment is open-plan, except for the bathroom, with a small terraced balcony only big enough to fit plant-pots in. His bed is partially set off from the living room and kitchen by a strategically-placed bookcase at the end of it and Emma’s old sofa is tucked into the corner, with a coffee table against the wall where Emma’s TV will go back to living on – Robin hadn’t bothered moving it, as until he got his bookshelf, it had been where he stacked his novels and occasionally, his dirty dishes.

 _So many memories,_ Robin thinks, recalling the first time he ever played Snap – they’d sat on the floor in front of the sofa in their pyjamas and Emma had trounced him; and there, in the kitchen, by the counter between the hob and the sink – that was where they’d kissed for the first time and dinner had burnt because they were so distracted, talking about what it meant.

When his phone rings again, he is waiting, _The Two Towers_ in hand.

* * *

Grace asks Robin to come in that evening, to help clean up after the adult night classes. He can remember the flyer and thinks it strange that she asks him to come when they’re still running, but then again, maybe she just wants support in running them and Robin’s hours are logged in a stringent fashion. He’ll probably end up leaving only an hour after closing.

When he arrives at the library, there’s a hive of activity. Desks are pushed together in large squares, colourful cardstock proclaiming each table to belong to a different subject. Robin can see _ENGLISH LANGUAGE_ on a particularly packed table and _MATHEMATICS_ on a more empty one, _SCIENCES_ and _ENGINEERING_ on others.

“Robin!” Grace comes out of nowhere, grabbing his wrist, “You’re good with languages, right?”

“Well, yes-”

“Sit at the Languages table and try to support the people there,” she instructs, “This is an open-night, really, like the last few nights. I’m going to start specifying what languages we’re helping with each night, I think. There’s simply too many people who’re having trouble.”

“Right,” Robin blinks, “Alright, well, how is this working? Are they speaking? Reading?”

Grace glances at the table. “I might take a desk from the Mathematics table. They’re mostly parents trying to learn for their teenagers and kids, apart from Sammy. I’m not a teacher – this is more of an open study session than real night classes,” she looks glum and Robin can sympathise.

“Maybe we can get volunteers to help?”

“I’m looking into it,” Grace mutters, before giving him a gentle shove towards the Languages table.

When Robin walks over, a couple of people look up. He can hear some murmurs in Low Southern, or rather, _Spanish_ , about how difficult it is learning such a complicated creole-that-isn’t-a-creole.

“Hello,” he says, voice clear. Around the table, people say _hello_ and _good evening_ – though there is one _good morning_. “My name is Robin,” he draws up a chair from the Mathematics table, two women making room for him. “I speak _Español, Elliniká_ and English. I also speak a little, uh…” Robin pauses, struggling to remember what the Land Without Magic calls Avontongue. “ _I can speak a little of this language,_ ” he eventually just says, recalling the long months he spent in Avonlea scouting defences.

“ _Français_ ,” someone identifies it, glancing around. “French. From France.”

A woman across the table pushes a sheet of paper forwards, turning it around for Robin to see as she speaks in frank Spanish. “ _I am trying to learn how to speak in the present tense. Is this right?_ ”

Robin takes the paper, scanning it from top to bottom. Her writing is sharp and hard to read in some places, but her notes are on one side – tables with words in English cross-tracked with their Spanish counterparts.

“This is a good tool,” he points at the table, glancing at her to see if she understood. Her forehead wrinkles and he repeats himself, giving her some time to work through the sentence.

“I do not know…tool,” she grasps at thin air, obviously frustrated.

“ _Your table here is an excellent learning device – or tool,_ ” Robin says. “Tool. _Herramienta._ ”

“I will not use this word,” the woman says.

“You may not, but other people will,” Robin advises her, before a different person cautiously asks him about the spellings of _their, there_ and _they’re_.

Time passes quickly that evening and Robin is startled when Grace dings the bell on the reception desk to get everyone’s attention. Most of the other tables have emptied, but the English Language table is going strong.

“You’re good at this,” Grace praises.

“My brain is tired,” Robin sighs, rubbing his forehead and dislodging his glasses – but he smiles as he fixes them. “It was fun. They still struggled, but I think having someone there who’s fluent is a good idea.”

“What was the demographic? I would have checked earlier, but I was helping Sammy with long division,” Grace asks, eager to know.

“Most of them were Spanish, but there were some outliers that I didn’t know,” Robin admits. “No-one spoke _Elliniká_ but me.”

“Thank-you for helping out, really,” Grace puts a hand on his arm, patting it. “Do you want a lift home? I took my car tonight.”

Robin glances outside, the darkness swallowing all light. “That would be great, thanks.”

Grace pats his arm again. “No problem, kid. Let’s pack up and get going.”

* * *

_I’m free._

Emma will go back for the Bug at some point in the next six months, but for now, her trusty yellow car is in a storage unit, only a bus ride away. More importantly, the bail-bondsperson has no way to track her and is probably combing Kentucky looking for her.

Climbing the stairs of Robin’s apartment building, Emma makes her way down the familiar hallways until she’s greeted with Robin’s door.

“Here we go,” Emma mutters, licking her lips as she knocks. The sound echoes slightly and she waits, listening for footsteps, lip quirking as she recognises Robin’s familiar tread. It gets louder as he approaches and when he opens the door, she grins.

“Emma,” he gasps, shutting the door again so he can draw the chain. Then, he flings it open and they embrace, arms wrapping around each other. “You’re here.”

“All in one piece,” Emma leans back, hesitating only briefly before pressing her lips to his. Robin is quick to reply, pulling her tighter to him.

“I missed you,” he whispers.

“You too, numbskull,” Emma says, still smiling. “Want to invite me in off your doorstep?”

“Our doorstep,” Robin corrects, glancing behind her. He frowns. “Is that all your luggage? Where’s the TV?”

Emma cringes, “I might have had to sell it.”

Robin doesn’t pout or make a face, only sighs a little and moves past her, disconnecting from her so he can grab her box of belongings and small suitcase. “There’s rice and game in the fridge from last night, if you’re hungry. If I had known you were coming this morning, I might have held off on eating the last of the bacon.”

“Don’t you have cereal like a normal person?” Emma groans jokingly.

“Nope,” Robin says as they go inside, shutting the door with his foot. Emma locks it behind him as he brings her things towards the back, where the window is wide open, letting in the sun.

“I forgot how small it was,” Emma says, noting the new bookcase and the new height to the bed, from the new mattress. She goes over to the bookcase, browsing the shelves briefly. As expected, his Tolkien collection is sat in order at eyelevel, with _His Dark Materials_ sat right beside it. Her head tilts at a certain title and she draws it out to see better. “ _Stardust_ ,” she reads.

Robin’s head jerks slightly. “Uh, yes. Neil Gaiman. It’s…” he hesitates, “it’s a romance, mostly.”

“Dude, you read _Lord of the Rings_ over and over again for fun,” Emma glances back at him in amusement, “which is basically an epic-long love-letter to fantasy. I’m not surprised. I’m more worried that you aren’t reading more sci-fi.”

Robin puts her stuff down, pointing at her. “I have you for sci-fi, you and your television - or rather, had your television. I don’t want to read what I can _see_.”

“You just want to watch cartoons with me,” Emma claims.

“I like cartoons better than sci-fi. Cartoons are _art_ and I find the process fascinating.” Robin replies to her before joining her by the bookshelf. “That said, I think you’d like _Stardust._ It’s rather…lovely.”

“Lovely like me?”

“Yes,” Robin says, lip twitching, “but apart from one major point, I think I like it the most because it reminds me of us, in certain ways.”

Emma gives the book a dubious look. “Really?”

“Really,” Robin nods, oddly stern.

“Alright, then,” Emma puts the book on the shelf sideways. “I’ll pick it up at some point.”

“That’s enough for me,” Robin says, even though he eyes her placement with a rather nasty curl to his lip. _It’s the librarian in him,_ Emma thinks to herself smugly, before her stomach rumbles.

“What was that earlier, about rice?”

**Author's Note:**

> "Tristan and Yvaine were happy together. Not forever-after, for Time, the thief, eventually takes all things into his dusty storehouse, but they were happy, as these things go, for a long while." - Stardust, by Neil Gaiman


End file.
